


Retaliation

by secretidentity



Series: Grey Areas [2]
Category: Spy vs Spy
Genre: Abuse, Anal, Bondage, Death Threats, Extremely Dubious Consent, Gunplay, Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation, Rimming, Rivalry, Serious Injuries, Stun Guns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 00:43:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretidentity/pseuds/secretidentity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The White Spy may have pushed his rival too far last time. Black takes his revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Retaliation

**Author's Note:**

> Another part of my old _Grey Areas_ series, originally posted as "secretidentity" on y!Gallery in 2008 and very lightly edited for archiving. I didn't (and still don't) know a lot about stun guns. If you would like to read this regardless, for the violence and unflinching smut, please suspend your disbelief.

It’s been a long month.

In fact, it’s been a long _three months._ After Black's unfortunate incident during his last fight with the White spy, Black has been slow to recover. He’s been eating his vegetables, taking his vitamins and drinking plenty of milk, but you just can’t rush mending bones.

The whole time that Black’s been laying in traction or tottering around on crutches, he’s been thinking about it - how to get that bastard White back. It was fine that he’d been beaten in the initial fight, fine that he’d been shot at, cut and kicked, and it was even fine that a stray stick of dynamite had dropped a support beam on top of him. After all, he’d gotten in his own hits and he’d shot right back. The building was a fluke neither of them had counted on and therefore didn't _count._

What _wasn’t_ fine was what White had done to Black afterwards, when he’d been vulnerable. 

That was something Black was going to make sure he paid back, with interest.  
\---

It’d been three months since he’d last seen Black. White hadn’t met his rival on the street since his torture-turned-sexual-assault coup and was honestly a little surprised. It made logical sense, considering the wounds Black had sustained, but a part of White had still expected to see Black hobbling behind him on crutches or even chasing him down in a wheelchair. 

After all, Black had to be able to put up more of a fight than that. So White continued working, half expecting (hoping?) to see Black in the shadows, and constantly facing disappointment when the only people standing in his way were plebes; worthless black spies sent by a worthless embassy to steal the same information that he was after. Pathetic.

White made a point of finishing all of these spies professionally. A bullet to the head, a knife between the ribs. Kids stuff. Another nameless spy dies for the sake of a document, an envelope that would be worthless if it were not for the importance placed on it by warring nations. At this point White was almost getting bored with his work. _Almost._

 _Everything is far too easy, I’m getting rusty._ Now it’s Monday morning and White is making himself a stiff cup of coffee in his trashy, embassy-supplied apartment. He’s going through the motions like he does every morning. He pours water into the correct compartment of his coffee maker, and empties a packet of grounds into the filter. The glass carafe goes under that and then it’s just the push of a button. No challenges here. Click. 

_Click._

Shit.

White barely covers his face with his arms before the coffee maker explodes and takes half of the kitchen counter with it. Hot water and shrapnel strikes White as he falls backwards from the explosion. His adrenaline kicks in and he’s rolling out of his landing, crouching and pulling his gun out of the waistband of his sweatpants. At least he hasn't gotten rusty enough to forget his firearm. He cocks his pistol and scans the room for his assailant.

His heart is beating faster than it has in ages, but no one seems to be in the cramped apartment with him . . . _Come on, that couldn't have been it, could it?_ He looks in the cupboard and no, there’s a box of stale crackers but otherwise it is quite empty. Behind the couch is likewise unoccupied, and his searches elsewhere are similarly fruitless.

Amateurs. An exploding coffee maker and no follow-up? They didn't seriously think that alone would finish him, did they? But then of course, an exploding coffee maker means that the person who’d rigged it knows where he lives and they’d been able to _get in_ to rig it in the first place.

That’s dangerous. White makes a mental note to contact his embassy to arrange a new apartment for tomorrow. When he is satisfied that no one is lurking in the shadows he moves into the bathroom to clean himself up. By now the water on his shirt has cooled and he pulls it over his head, wincing at the sound of bits of glass and plastic shaking loose and landing on the tile. He tosses his shirt in the bathroom sink and places his pistol on the counter before stepping out of his pants. He examines and cleans the small shrapnel wounds on his arms.

No coffee today, but at least White can still enjoy his morning shower.  
\---

White steps out of the stall and wraps a clean towel around his waist. He’s feeling good, on top of his game; one hundred percent refreshed and ready to tackle his mission for the day. Decisions have been made and doubts have washed away, the embarrassing incident this morning holds no lasting effect over him. _After all,_ White thinks as he pushes his hair back - _I’m a professional._

He hears a faint click, buzz behind him and the sound triggers a distant memory. He moves to react but too slow - pure agony shoots through his body from the small of his back outwards and White loses control of his limbs. He cries out and drops to the floor, landing hard on the wet tiles and arching.

If training taught him anything, he knows that feeling. He looks up to see Black standing over him with a smug grin, pointing a stun gun at him. Blue light dances between the prongs and it gives Black’s face an ominous glow. He kneels down beside his surprised rival. 

Black might be saying “Long time no see,” but White cannot hear him. The stun gun’s prongs press against the side of his exposed neck and raw pain - worse than before radiates from the point of contact and White passes out almost immediately.  
\---

He wakes up slowly, becoming aware of his position and environment piece by piece. The first thing he notices is the cramping in his jaw and shoulders - attempting to work the cricks out makes it clear to him that his mouth has been stuffed with a ball gag. He shifts to ease the pain in his neck and shoulders and can feel rope scraping over his skin, several wraps bind his upper arms to his torso. His elbows and wrists are also tied together. An unfortunate position. 

To add to the humiliation, he is still completely nude.

White understands that his assailant wouldn’t bother to dress him, but regardless . . . That must mean that the spy who jumped him (Black? Had it really been him?) had carried or dragged him through the house while he was naked. At least he is in his own bed instead of finding himself in an unfamiliar room, with unknown exits.

And his legs are free - a pathetic oversight. He _had_ thought he’d seen Black. Just for a moment after the first hit with the stun gun. He is certain now that it had been a hopeful, pain induced hallucination because there was no way would his rival forget to tie his legs. This is an amateur mistake. 

White starts rotating his wrists, testing the give of the rope. Whoever tied him had done a good job of it, the knots are tight enough to keep him still but not quite tight enough to numb his hands. White determines that he can escape in seven minutes - no, five. With some concentrated effort, of course. White had only been struggling for a few minutes before he started grunting with exertion, perched on his knees with his face pressing into the sheets. 

“Impatient, are you?”

White freezes in place. He knows that voice! It _was_ Black, not a hallucination at all! His joy and fear fight for dominance as he turns to look at his opponent. Black is standing with his arms crossed in the doorway, looking whole but otherwise like shit. He’s only wearing his shirt and trousers and there’s something crooked in his expression that hadn't been there three months ago.

White thinks: _A challenge. Finally._  
  
Black walks towards the bed with a determined, straight back and a limp in his step. He is obviously favouring his right leg, which reminds White of his previous imagined scenarios. Black on crutches - the reality of his fantasy is rather disturbing to him. _He shouldn’t show weakness so easily. How long **did** he spend on crutches, anyway?_

Black takes the stun gun out of his back pocket and shows it to White before clicking a button and activating the charge between the prongs. “You remember this?”

 _Not really._ White thinks to himself. _Perhaps my memory is fuzzy due from you fucking shooting me in the neck with it until I blacked out._ He gives Black his best glare.

Black casually raises his bad leg and kicks White onto his side, getting onto the bed and manhandling him onto his back. Black forces himself between White’s knees, wincing visibly as White’s struggle puts stress on his injury. “I owe you a debt of pain, White.”

He has his weapon ready in the time it takes White to gasp - the blue light flicks out from Black’s stun gun and then he’s pressing it against the pale skin of White’s inner thigh. White involuntarily shouts at the contact, the gag reducing his cry that of a frightened animal. His nerves feel like they’re on fire, _It hurts - Oh God **please** ,_ His whole body jerks at the pain and he mindlessly tries to shrink back from Black, but the stun gun follows his movements closely. Black holds it on him for three full seconds before easing off.

White’s skin stings and pulses where the prongs touched him and he acutely feels the aftershocks. A groan dies in the back of his throat and his thighs quiver. Black rubs his hand over where he stung White, grinning as he watches pink rise to the surface and two small dark bruises begin to show.

Watching Black’s expression with trepidation, White tries to organize his thoughts. He is naked and tied up. On a bed. With an angry Black spy between his legs. An angry Black spy with a grudge who is in possession of a charged stun gun. Okay, bad things sometimes happen to, uh. Bad people. _Right._ He would fight Black if his body wasn’t protesting and confused, the information being sent from his brain to his limbs misfiring, resulting in nothing but vague twitches and pain in his extremities.

“Do you remember what I said that night? Before you left?”

White looks at him. _Would I forget?_

“I _am_ going to kill you.” Black maintains eye contact as he dips his head down and bites the bruise on the inside of White’s thigh. White can’t help but become aroused - it’s a dangerous situation, but with Black looking at him like that and with his mouth so close . . . White drops his head back and mentally curses himself for his inappropriate erection. There’s _no way_ Black could miss that.

Yet his rival continues sucking and biting at that bruise, holding his twitching thighs spread wide. “I just haven’t decided how to finish you yet.” Black begins pinching that spot, keeping White focused ob the pain there and teasing the skin to a complete shade of red. “I've thought about killing you quickly. I could slide a knife through the roof of your mouth, but that wouldn't be very sporting, would it? Another method I've considered is drowning you in your own bathtub. I think I’d like to see you struggle underwater in your final moments.”

White can’t help himself as he groans at the last suggestion, shutting his eyes against the images it summons and working his mouth around the gag. He knows better than to struggle, but the urge is there - telling him to escape. _Wait for the right moment, he’s all talk. Just wait . . ._ but then he feels Black’s lips kissing the base of his cock and he is wide awake, full mast and bridging his back to thrust his shaft against his rival’s smirk.

“And then . . . You’ve heard the stories, haven’t you? People die all the time from stun guns. ‘Police brutality’ and all of that. I’m sure that no matter how resilient you are, if I shocked you enough, and in sensitive places . . .” Black clicks on his gun and holds it horribly close to White’s package. His lips move against White’s prick as he says in a low, bedroom voice: “You may just die from the pain.”

White can’t hold back a whimper of honest fear, and attempts to use his feet to push away from Black’s threat. He starts choking on his own saliva, a long string of it dangling from the gag. Black turns off his device and drops it on the side table, making reassuring sounds and reaching around White’s head to unhook the strap of the gag. He eases the rubber ball out from behind his rival’s teeth and puts the contraption aside.

“Shh, take it easy there. Suffocating on your own drool isn't the way to go.” Black heaves White up into a sitting position and leans him on his own body for support, alternatively patting and rubbing the exposed part of White’s back to help clear his airway.

White breathes heavy and coughs hard, accepting Black’s peculiar gesture of kindness. Black murmurs and shushes him, tucking his face into White’s neck and then the moment is over. His teeth are at the mark he’d left there earlier with the stun gun, nibbling and scraping enough to make White hiss. It still aches from the shock.

Black lays him back down on the sheets and White ignores the discomfort the position causes in his shoulders - just making the effort to breathe is enough. Black runs his fingers gently over White’s wet, panting mouth. “Your jaw must be sore now.”

A bitter laugh, “Yeah. Kind of.” Black pushes two fingers between White’s lips and pulls down, coaxing him to open up wider. White submissively allows his tongue to be stroked before closing his lips around those intruding fingers and sucking.

“Fuck . . . I can’t believe how much of a slut you are.”

White feels his cock twitch at the insult. _I’ve got something to say about that -_ White holds his mouth slack and glares at Black before very deliberately biting down. Black hisses and pulls his fingers out, grunting as White’s teeth scrape against his knuckles. He cracks the back of his hand against White’s self-satisfied grin.

White’s head turns away from the blow but he says nothing. He lays in his awkward, bound position and just breathes, hoping Black won’t comment on the fact that his erection is rising again. He licks his lips before speaking: “Humour me. How long have you been planning this?”

Black scoffs. “Ever since you thought it was a good idea to shove your dick in my face.” 

“It was a good idea, and that makes you _obsessed_.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just pissed. Besides, you can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. What we did. What a second round would be like.” 

“I _could_ tell you that.”

“You’d be lying.” Black slips a finger behind White’s balls and strokes over the puckered hole there. He smiles to himself when White’s breath hitches and he bucks a little. “I couldn’t stop thinking about that night at the hospital, and I couldn’t help it if it turned me on. Do you know how difficult it is to pull one off when both of your hands are in fucking casts? Seriously. _Thanks for that,_ bastard.”

“You should have called me. I would have loved to watch you fumble with your-ah!” Black knocks White onto his side again and White is profoundly grateful for the release of the pressure on his arms and hands. Black pulls and pushes him around until he is once more on his knees, with his cheek pressed flat onto the bedding. 

Black spreads White’s ass and takes a moment to enjoy the view. From this angle he can see White’s tight hole, his firm ass and the stretch of his elegant back, only partially obscured by slowly purpling arms and fists. He looks vulnerable, open. He uses one hand to hold White’s hip tight and starts working one finger into him. “Nng, h-HEY. I didn't say that was okay.” Black ignores him and spits on his asshole. He starts pushing a second finger in, twisting to loosen White up.

“Fuck, the lube is in the drawer to your right!”

“What if I don’t want to use it?”

“Sh-shit . . . bastard. Don’t talk like that -” Black laughs softly. He applies more spit to where his fingers are drilling into White’s asshole.

“You already have a bruise here,” White’s confused about Black’s seemingly random topic of conversation until his enemy’s teeth scrape across the small of his back and he feels a rolling ache from the spot. Right. From the shock in the bathroom. “Looking at it . . . God. It’s making me hot.” Black covers the mark with his open mouth and sucks hard.

After fumbling one-handed in the drawer pushing aside a collection of bullets, Black retrieves the lube. White hears a slick sound behind him, and then the two fingers return, thrusting and twisting inside of him. The slide in is much easier now, and getting finger-fucked is making White’s arousal sharper. He pushes back against that hand and moans when Black twists his wrist and hits that place inside of him _just right_ while still sucking on that bruise.

More lube and then a third finger is inside of him. “I wonder,” Black spreads his fingers and scissors them as much as he can. “You seem to be warming up to this. You like having my fingers up your ass.” He pulls out. “But it seems you've forgotten though that this isn’t for your pleasure. That’s . . . incidental.” And then Black drops a heavy slap onto White’s ass. _Smack!_

“Fuck! Bastard!”

Black takes off his belt and pulls the zip of his trousers open as his impatience grows. “Whatever you say.” He wipes the remaining lube from his fingers onto the head of his prick, barely slicking himself before teasing the rim of White’s hole with it. “Your ass still looks pretty tight. Have you done this before?”

White grunts, “Not a lot.”

“Do I hear honesty? I’m surprised at you.” Black sinks his cock into White’s asshole and listens carefully to his rival’s deep, drawn-out moan. He drapes his body over White’s bound arms and just drinks in the sensation of White’s inexperienced hole quivering around his cock. In fact, it seems as if all of White’s body is faintly shaking. Black speaks so closely to the shell of White’s ear that his lips brush against it with every syllable. “Is it painful?”

“Nng - ha, don’t flatter yourself. Others have done worse.”

The response puts Black off. What? _What?_ He reaches around White’s waist and palms his cock. His erection has flagged somewhat from the penetration, but he’s still hard. “I guess it’s to be expected in our line of work but . . . I don’t like that.”

“Forget it! Just - just keep going, fuck.” A single, short thrust makes White cry out and press his face deeper into the sheets. If his fists were free, he’d be pounding them against the mattress. “Do it! I’m not gonna break!”

“Just listen for a minute.” Black wraps his fingers around the front of White‘s neck and pulls, dragging him up until his head is resting on Black’s shoulder and he’s almost sitting up, impaled. White makes a sound half-way between ‘yes’ and ‘fuck,’ at the rough treatment and the way Black’s cock shifts inside his ass.

Black bites White’s earlobe and scrapes his teeth across it as he pulls away to speak, “I want to be the person who’s done worse to you. No one’s allowed to hurt you the way I do. Just me.” He squeezes White’s neck, just enough to threaten. “You got that?” He grinds up into the round curve of White’s ass.

“Hhngh! Y-yeah, just.”

“Just what?”

“If you’re going to do it, do it. Fuck me already.” White turns his face away, his full-body blush betraying him. Black laughs and starts thrusting, hard enough to rock White upwards on the in-stroke. “Nnn-ah! Y-yeah, like that.”

Black chuckles drops one hand down to run over and over the inside of White’s bruised thigh, just feeling him there. White murmurs nonsense, slumping forward and resting his forehead on the mattress. He pushes his hips back onto Black as well as he can without the use of his arms and speaks constantly. Black can pick out distinct fragments like ‘fuck’ and ‘more’ and the occasional ‘don’t stop, don’t stop’ he moves to comply, grasping both of White’s hips in his large hands and pulling him onto his cock, thrusting as deep as he can - 

\- until he feels his hip pinch and a jolt of pain tears through his right thigh. His previous injury is agonizing and god, what a time for it to hit. Black forces himself on for a moment before it’s obvious that he cannot continue this way. With a curse, he pulls out of White, who wails at the withdrawal. White lays there, panting for a moment with his shoulders tense, anticipation obvious in the line of his back. When Black fails to make his move, White turns to glare at him.

“Why’d you stop? I was so fucking close-”

“We’re changing positions.”

“Asshole, why the hell - Ah!” White’s complaints are cut off by a hard slap to his ass. _Smack!_ The force of it shoves his body an inch up the bed. _Smack!_ Another hit and White is whining and curling his ass in close, attempting to distance himself from the blows. He breathes, ready for the next hit to land but nothing comes. 

Black lays down next to him and says “Come on, get on top.”

White moves slowly, painfully on his knees. He raises his torso as best he can and gives Black a scathing look. “This would be one hell of a lot easier if I was untied.”

“If you were untied, I’d have a bullet in my brain by now.” Black holds White’s waist and helps him over his lap. Black uses one hand to guide his prick back into White’s ass while pushing him down with the other. From here, Black can see every expression pass over White’s flushed face - every twitch of his lips and flutter of his eyelids. The way he looks as he’s made to sit until his ass is flush against Black’s balls is something else, entirely.

He strokes White’s sides with both hands, looking up at him with a smirk. “Now do it. Fuck yourself on my cock.” White doesn't even complain. He looks at Black from under his long, pale eyelashes and lifts his body up with his thighs before dropping back down, hitching his breath a little at the depth, and starting again.

His body is in constant motion and the way he’s clenching and relaxing his hole around Black’s prick - _God,_ as if his body were made for this - is just too much. Black tries to hold out, but the feel of his rival’s ribs moving under his palms and the shifting, liquid motion of White’s hips is just too much for him to bear. He braces his heels on the mattress, thrusts up and comes deep inside of White’s ass. 

The feeling of it makes White moan and thrust down harder, pushing and grinding himself onto Black. He works himself up and down faster now, exhausted and desperate for release. Just a little bit longer just - just another few strokes and he’d be coming. But too soon, Black pulls his prick out of White’s hole and shoves him off of his lap.

“ _What?_ **Fuck,** I was so close you son _ofa **bitch!**_ ” White lands on his belly and lifts his hips up again, preparing to flip over and give Black a serious shouting out. He pauses when he feels Black’s palms on his ass again, spreading him open. “God . . . O-oh . . . ” That pointed tongue of Black’s is probing at his entrance, lapping at the come that’s dripping out.

Black laughs derisively as he plunges two fingers into White’s pink, grasping hole. “You really are such a slut for it. The way you beg for more, the way you were fucking yourself on my dick just a minute ago. I bet you’d love to have a hand free. You would have jerked yourself off ages ago.

“Do you understand how frustrating it is, now? To be so fucking turned on, but unable to wrap your hands around your dick to take care of the problem? I want you to feel that, White.” Black runs his tongue over the rim of White’s asshole, teasing where his fingers are thrusting in and in and in. He bends his knuckles just so and presses up hard into White’s prostate. 

“Ah! Hhnng-” White starts up his litany of pleas, curses, oaths and again, “Please please don’t stop, don’t - oh God, Black just . . . Yes, please -” and Black slips another finger into his hole, slippery with come and lube. He presses up again and he sucks at the skin clenching around his digits. White lets out one final wail before shooting his load all over his belly and bed sheets.

Black takes his time finishing. He rocks his fingers in a few more times before taking them out and places a final, sloppy kiss on White’s twitching hole. “I never took you for being such a talker, White. Or is it just that you love having your ass played with so much you can’t help yourself?”

“Shut up.”

“I’d say we have some serious evidence right here.” He drags his hand through the cooling come on White’s belly and casually slips his hand around White’s flaccid cock, giving it a gentle stroke. “You’re a complete slut.”

“Y-you fucking psycho. I’m going to get you back for this.” White turns his head to fix Black with an icy stare. “You’re going to be the one taking it next time, Black. And I’ll _make_ you regret this.”

Black drop a chaste kiss on the bruise he left on the small of White’s back. “Promises, promises.”

“It’s not a promise; it’s a threat.”

“Of course it is.” Black gets off of the bed and when White sees him stand and walk away, he notices that he looks in worse shape than he was at the beginning of their encounter. His limp is more pronounced and he struggles longer than necessary to do up his pants, presumably fumbling with his zip. White should not feel guilty - _Black had deserved it. He had deserved it, he had so fucking deserved it and now._ Now he deserves worse.

“My arms hurt like hell! Are you going to untie me now, bastard?”

Black simply flashes his a grin over his shoulder and exits the room.

_Well, fuck._


End file.
